Bayliss & Calladine Box Set

by Helen H. Durrant

  She laughed at that, and the sound echoed around the high ceilings like musical notes. “Oh, I think you do, Detective. You are a very desirable man. But I won’t complicate anything. You’re here tonight because I want to keep you close.” She turned around and ran her manicured nails down his chest. “We’ll eat, we’ll talk — and then we’ll see. I won’t pick your brains. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, and I certainly won’t force you. That’s the deal — not too difficult.”

  Calladine cleared his throat. She made it all so sound so easy — too easy. This woman was young, very lovely, and obviously making a play for him. Was she offering him her body in exchange for information? A ridiculous idea that he dismissed almost as soon as it entered his head. But all the same, it left an uneasy feeling behind.

  And she’d dressed to kill. She wore a skimpy, short-skirted number that emphasised her figure, and she teetered up the stairs on ultra-high heels. The sight of this beautiful woman reinforced his doubts. He shouldn’t have come here at all. He shouldn’t have fallen for it, this illusion she was spinning. He didn’t know what had possessed him. He should be back at his own place, with Monika.

  “It’s small, it’s different but it is all mine,” she announced, as they entered her apartment.

  Calladine had not been inside one of these places before, so he’d never seen what the developers had done with the old mill. But he was impressed. Lydia’s apartment was open plan — not something that would suit him, too expensive to heat. The ceilings were high and many of the original features had been left behind. The old stone flags still lay on the floor. They’d been cleaned and varnished, but they were the ones that had seen hundreds of pairs of clogs trample over them across the decades. The ceiling was beamed and the dark oak stripped to make it lighter. Tall windows let in natural light that must fill the place during the daytime.

  “It’s been beautifully done. I knew this place as a lad when it was a working mill — not so lovely then, I promise you.”

  “I think it’s great. This would cost a fortune in London, which is partly why I moved north.” She poured two glasses of red wine. “I sold my tiny flat in Camden and could afford to buy this outright. Brilliant, don’t you think? I can’t understand why more folk don’t do it.”

  “Work is what stops them. Jobs are not that plentiful up here — and then there’s the weather.” They both laughed at this.

  “Yes, why is it so wet up here?”

  “It’s the hills, the Pennines. We sit in a little semi-circle of land with the hills all around. So the rain clouds get trapped. That’s what my mum always used to tell me, anyway.”

  “Your mum, is she . . .?”

  “She’s still with us and doing okay. She lives in a care home, run by a good friend of mine.”

  He didn’t want to say too much about Monika; it would only spoil the mood. What the hell was he thinking? He shouldn’t be here, and he shouldn’t be trying to hide the fact that Monika was a big part of his life.

  “Perhaps I should go.” He put his wine glass down on the table. “Frankly, I should never have come.”

  “Oh, don’t spoil things now. Please stay. You’re the first man I’ve met since I’ve been here, and, putting the case aside for a while, I would like to get to know you better.” She put down her own wine glass and wrapped her arms around him. “Don’t you want to get to know me a little better too? Don’t you find me attractive, Detective?”

  She planted little kisses on his cheek, slowly trailing them around to his mouth. “Kiss me, Tom. Kiss me hard.”

  The kiss was deep and sensual. Resistance and all thoughts of the case gone, moments later his jacket and tie hit the sofa and she dragged him off to her bedroom. A flurry of discarded clothing and flailing limbs, and then she was on top of him, her naked breasts brushing his chest hair.

  Lydia Holden gave one of her dazzling smiles and produced a small foil packet from the bedside table. “Allow me, Detective.” Moments later, she lowered her body onto his.

  He sank gratefully into her welcoming warmth. She groaned with pleasure, swept back the curtain of long, blonde hair from her face and continued to rise and fall on his prone body. Lydia Holden was determined to make this a night he wouldn’t forget in a hurry.

  Chapter 12

  Wednesday

  By the time Calladine woke it was daylight. For a few desperate seconds he couldn’t think where he was. And then it hit him. He’d spent the night with Lydia Holden — worse than that he’d spent a night of shameless debauchery with Lydia Holden. What on earth had possessed him? More to the point, what about Monika?

  He groaned and rubbed a hand over his brow. He had one heck of a headache. Served him right, cheating bastard that he was. If Monika ever found out about this she’d never forgive him, and who could blame her?

  The soft female hand rested on his arm. Lydia lay with her eyes closed, breathing regularly, with a small smile on those luscious, expert lips of hers. Oh God, how he’d enjoyed this woman!

  He checked his watch and found he’d overslept. He’d have to re-live the delights of Lydia Holden’s body later. The rest of his team would be hard at it by now. He pushed things around on the bedside table, but he couldn’t find his mobile. It must still be in his jacket pocket.

  He crept out of her bed as quietly as he could manage, but heard her groan. He watched as she ran her hand over the bed sheet where he’d just been lying.

  “Tom, don’t go, it’s early.” She rose onto her elbows to watch his naked figure tiptoeing through her bedroom door.

  “Work, Lydia,” he called back, scooping up his discarded clothing from the floor and retiring into her bathroom.

  Ruth would be ringing round trying to find him. It was way past nine and he should have been at his desk over an hour ago. Ruth would want to know where he’d been. What was he going to tell her? Not the truth, that’s for sure.

  Calladine showered and dressed. There was no shaving gear in the bathroom, so he’d have to pass by his place once he’d checked in. For now he’d have to go with the rugged, stubbly look.

  There were five missed calls from Ruth on his mobile. “Sorry, Ruth, my battery went dead,” he lied. “Is something up?”

  “Cuba Hassan was found last night on the estate — she’s been shot. She was discovered in the narrow alley up the side of Heron House in the early hours. She was lucky to be found at all and she’s in a bad way.”

  He groaned. He’d taken his eye off the ball for one night — one solitary night — and this happened.

  “Malcolm Masheda?”

  “We can’t find him. His mother hasn’t seen him since yesterday afternoon and doesn’t know what he’s been up to. She’s just come back from Trinidad. She only flew in to Manchester yesterday morning.”

  “Is someone with Cuba at the hospital?”

  “Her mother; and I’ve got a uniformed PC there. She’s in intensive care, but it’s been a good few hours since her op so she should be coming round soon.”

  “I’ll meet you there. Damn, I’ve no car. I left it at home last night. Can you pick me up? I’ll wait outside for you — in about five minutes. Okay?”

  “Outside where, sir? Where are you?”

  “Wrigley Mill Apartments in Hopecross.”

  Now he’d done it but he’d had no choice. Ruth would be intrigued, but it wouldn’t take her long to work it out. She’d know her DI had been out and hadn’t been home all night. She’d also know that it wasn’t Monika who lived in one of those swanky apartments in that upmarket little village either. So she’d want to know what he’d been up to. Even more interesting, who had he been up to it with. She’d tear into him for letting Monika down. It was rare that he even spent the night at Monika’s place. Dare he tell her the truth — admit who had tempted him away from his own fireplace at last? He’d see how things went.

  After a brief explanation to Lydia, Calladine left the apartment and waited outside in the icy drizzle for
Ruth to arrive. He’d not meant to stay the entire night — he’d not meant for things to go that far. A bite to eat, she’d said. He shook his head; they’d never even got as far as eating . . .

  “I can take you in, Tom.” There she was, emerging through the entrance doors in a designer suit and clutching a briefcase.

  She looked lovely, and he felt suddenly tongue-tied. What was this damn woman doing to him?

  “I’m practically passing the station, so it’s no bother.” She gave him one of her smiles, which he was sure could melt ice.

  “Thanks, Lydia, but my sergeant’s picking me up.”

  “We’ll do this again, Detective.” She said and kissed his cheek. “Next time you won’t be so rude. You won’t leave a girl lying in bed craving her breakfast treat.” She smirked wickedly as she reached around him and squeezed his backside before teetering off in the rain.

  As bad luck would have it, Ruth chose that very moment to pull up beside him and wind her car window down. “If I’m not mistaken that’s the blonde bimbo from the Echo. She must really have something special, getting my guv to do the walk of shame,” she teased, seeing that he was wearing his good suit and silk tie. “You’ve been out all night, haven’t you? And not with Monika either. So come on, why that particular hottie? And don’t lie, because if you do I’ll tell, and Monika will be livid. In fact she’ll be more than livid — she’ll kill you.”

  He’d been caught red-handed. This was the plain-speaking version of Ruth giving him both barrels — but he probably deserved it.

  “She asked me round, she’s good company and I like her. Do we have time to call in at my place? I need a shave.”

  He didn’t much like the look on Ruth’s face. He knew that look and it always unnerved him. “And if you do tell Monika, I’ll have you demoted, Sergeant. We both have a little secret to keep now, and that’s how they should stay — secret.”

  Ruth grinned. “I never had you down as any sort of womaniser, Tom Calladine, and particularly not the type who’d attract someone like Lydia Holden. Not that you couldn’t,” she added hastily. “It’s just that women like her tend to go for a different sort of man.”

  “What you mean is the younger sort.”

  “If you like,” she smirked. “So in my book that means she’s after something and you should be careful.”

  “Keep your opinions to yourself, Sergeant.”

  “In my opinion you seeing a reporter goes one better than my school teacher — what do you say? What if that little shocker reached the wrong ears? What if Jones got wind of it?”

  She was joking, she had to be. Calladine’s head shot round and he gave her a long hard look. There was a grin on her face — she had him banged to rights.

  “Okay. I’ll keep your dirty little secret — but because of Monika, not you. Understand?”

  He nodded. He understood only too well.

  * * *

  Cuba Hassan lay in the intensive-care bed covered in what looked like tin foil and wired up to the machines that were monitoring her vital signs. The trace on the display seemed to wave about wildly, so much so that Calladine nudged the nurse and asked if that was her heart.

  “Her breathing. She’s actually doing okay at the moment. Her heart is strong, but one of her lungs was injured.”

  “The bullet nicked the lower lobe of the right lung, Detective Inspector.” The doctor entered the room. “We’ve removed the bullet and passed it to your forensic team.”

  So Julian would be examining it right now — to find out whether it was a match for the bullet that had killed Richard Pope.

  “We’ve been helping her with her breathing and slowly raising her core temperature. It was freezing last night, and she’s got mild hypothermia.”

  Calladine turned to the tearful coffee-coloured woman at Cuba’s bedside.

  “Mrs Hassan—”

  “It’s Karen Miller. I was never Hassan. Bastard left as soon as we registered her, and I haven’t seen him since.”

  He closed his eyes. Another example of typical family life on the Hobfield.

  “When did you last see Cuba, Karen?”

  “She came home to eat yesterday, about four in the afternoon. Mash came round an hour or so later and she left with him.” She sobbed and clamped a tissue to her face. “They can’t find him. The bastard has done this to my Cuba then done a runner.”

  “We don’t know that, Karen. Mash and Cuba were close. I saw them together myself only yesterday. Mash is no angel, but this is way over the top even for a young man with his background.”

  “Come on, Inspector. He’s a drug-dealing gang member with a reputation for violence. He’s not the type you mess with and he’s got a temper. He did for her, you’ll see.”

  She wasn’t entirely wrong, but Mash hadn’t been in trouble for a while now. Tagged yes, but for a minor offence, not violence, and not drug dealing. But there was no way Karen Miller was going to believe that, not until Cuba regained consciousness and told her.

  “Will she recover?” Calladine asked the doctor.

  “I should think so. She was lucky, a fraction further to the left . . . if she hadn’t been found, then it would be a very different story.”

  “See! He wanted to kill her. He wanted her dead.” Karen was raving now. “What if he comes back? What if he tries again? What are you lot going to do to protect her?”

  “We’ll do our best to find Mash, don’t worry. There’ll be a police presence here all the time. She’s quite safe.”

  Calladine could tell that she didn’t believe anything he said. But instinct told him this wasn’t down to Malcolm. He leaned over the girl. She was blinking her eyes, trying to open them. There was a sudden noise from one of the machines, and the doctor moved forward.

  “What’s happening? Is she alright?”

  “I think she’s coming round.” Ruth took Karen’s arm and helped her to her feet. “Stand back, let the doctor see her.”

  “Cuba? Can you hear me?” He pressed a stethoscope to her chest.

  Cuba Hassan moaned and moved her lips. Her mouth was very dry and she coughed. Her eyes blinked in shock at all the people staring at her.

  A nurse offered her a drink in a sort of baby beaker. She took a sip from it and licked her lips.

  “Mash? Is he here?” Her voice was a whisper.

  “Did he do this?” Her mother strained forward, shrugging Ruth’s arm off her shoulder. “Did that moron do this to you?”

  Cuba shook her head and screwed up her large brown eyes. “No. Mash wouldn’t hurt me. I felt a burning, then nothing. He was kissing me, I was in his arms . . . he wouldn’t do this.”

  Ruth turned to Calladine.

  “So where is he, then? Why haven’t we found him and why hasn’t he come here to see Cuba?”

  Calladine signalled for her to follow him out into the corridor. “We’ll go and talk to Hoyle, see what he makes of this.”

  “You thinking what I’m thinking, boss?” He shivered. “I’m afraid so. He and Cuba were very close. He wouldn’t leave her like that if he had any choice. I think our young Mr Masheda may well have met with his worst nightmare.”

  * * *

  Doctor Hoyle could add nothing to dispel their fears.

  “She was shot in the back from a few yards away. If she was in Masheda’s arms then it wasn’t him. Even if he reached around with the gun there’d be powder marks on her clothing and skin, and there are none.”

  “Looks like our man, then.”

  “I’m having the bullet checked, Tom. I shouldn’t speculate, but it would help if it was a match for the one that killed Richard Pope. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Edwards and Hurst?”

  Hoyle shook his head. “Dreadful mess. I’m still doing the DNA in order to match the right bits to the right body.”

  Ruth felt sick. She couldn’t help picturing those two on trolleys, with Hoyle working on them as if they were a pair of jigsaws.

  “Back to the nick
, Ruth. Bring the team up to date and see if we can find Mash.”

  Their eyes met. Both knew that the next time they set eyes on Malcolm Masheda, they’d be lucky if they could even recognise him.

  Chapter 13

  He had a blinding headache and he was cold. Something awful had happened, but he couldn’t remember what. He tried, racked his brain, but thinking was too painful.

  “Mr Masheda! You’re back.”

  He was being offered a drink. A cardboard beaker was put to his lips, and he took a large slurp of the cold fluid. Water? He thought so, but it was bitter tasting. Why couldn’t he hold it himself? Mash tried to lift his arms and realised that he was bound tight to something.

  “You’ll feel better soon. Getting you here was easier than I thought.” The voice chuckled. “You lot really are letting your guard down these days, aren’t you?”

  The water was taken away and a piece of cloth was pushed into his mouth. He couldn’t speak and he didn’t have the strength to push it out. What had happened to him? He couldn’t see; wherever he was, it was dark.

  Mash closed his eyes and tried to think. He’d been with Cuba. They’d been talking and listening to music. He’d been about to go home, to see his mother. Cuba had talked about going away. She wanted to be with him. A pulse of terror rushed through his body; a shock so fierce it made him tremble violently.

  He’d been holding her, kissing her and then her blood was on his hands. How could that happen? Someone had hurt her, hurt her real bad and now they’d taken him. But what about Cuba? What had happened to her? He felt warm tears run down his cheeks, but he couldn’t wipe them away. Cuba was dead, she must be. She’d looked so still.

  “I’m sorry, Mash.” His captor was speaking. “You don’t mind me being so familiar, do you? I mean it isn’t as if we know each other or anything, but I’ve heard of you, of course. Your reputation on the estate has gone before you.”

  Mash grunted behind the gag. He could call him whatever he wanted as long as he let him go.